The Right Swipe

by Alisha Rai

  “You walked for your friend.” Do not let that melt your cold dead heart.

  But as much as she might wish otherwise, her heart was neither cold nor dead, so there it went. Melting into a puddle.

  “We were closer than friends. We were teammates. We played college ball together. He was my brother.”

  “I can’t believe they wanted him to play with a concussion.”

  “I can.” He lifted a shoulder. “I knew better, because of—well, anyway, the week before, they’d distributed a pamphlet in our locker room about how concussions wouldn’t lead to permanent problems if each injury was properly managed.” He smiled bitterly. “But they didn’t even want to manage my friend properly.” He resettled his weight, the waterbed shifting with him. “Anyway. A lot of my teammates and the fans were angry with me. Someone coined the Lima Curse, and I guess there are still people who remember that ten years later.”

  She ran her palm over his smooth jaw. He was leaving things out, but she wasn’t going to badger him. “I’m sorry.”

  He grunted. “I can’t believe I spewed all this out. I don’t usually like to talk about myself like this.”

  “It’s the waterbed,” she said solemnly. “The waterbed of truth.”

  He chuckled. “Makes sense.” He played with her fingers and sobered. Without another word, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

  It might be that he was embarrassed by the vulnerability he’d revealed and was simply deflecting any further questioning, but that was fine with her. She kissed him back, eager. Damn it. She did like him.

  Which was fine. You could like temporary bed partners. Keep telling yourself that. Emphasize the temporary.

  Their lips parted, both of them panting. “Do you remember, back on the beach, when I went down on you?” he murmured. “That first time, right after we got inside the house?”

  “Yeah,” she exhaled.

  His hand slid over her ass. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Since I saw you again, it’s all I’ve thought about.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Mm-hmm. Camera’s off, yeah? Now we can get personal?” There was that blasted dimple again. “As per the terms of our contract?”

  “Mine is, but I can’t guarantee other people’s are.” She shifted. “These cabanas are dry humping pods, I’m sure.”

  He looked around them with disgust. “Okay, as unique as this experience is, I’m ready to leave.”

  “Why don’t you walk me to my car?”

  HIS BODY WOUND tighter as he followed Rhiannon to the garage where she’d parked. Some other time, he might worry about her wandering around these deserted garages by herself instead of parking at a street meter or surface lot, but not today.

  He should have been anxious that he’d opened up to her as much as he had—only a select few knew such personal things about him—but the emotions that had driven him to tell her about his past had morphed into something else, something dark and heavy.

  Though, to be fair, he’d been consumed with varying degrees of lust since he’d watched her walk across the rooftop, her bright blue hoodie unzipped enough to give him a peek of shadowy cleavage. When had sweatshirts become an aphrodisiac? The same time peppermint had become one, he supposed. More specifically, when he’d met Rhi.

  She got into the back seat of her car, shoving the driver’s seat up and making space for him. He got inside and reached for her immediately. There wasn’t much room, but that was okay. He didn’t need much room to please her.

  And he wanted to please her. He wanted to play her body like a concert violinist. He wanted her to remember tomorrow what his tongue and hands felt like, so he could do this a million times more.

  He came up for air from her lips and immediately pressed kisses to her cheeks, and down her throat. His fingers went to the waistband of her pants. She wore stretchy leggings today, thank God. Jeans were stiff and inflexible and difficult to wrestle off in the confines of a back seat. He knew, because his jeans were currently strangling his dick.

  “I want to lick you until you come,” he heard himself say, and the guttural, deep tone of his voice startled him. He sucked the pulse at the base of her neck. “Will you let me?”

  Her yes was almost soundless, but he heard it. That thready, breathless verbalization of consent was sexier than anything on this planet. Even sweatshirts and peppermint.

  She raised her hips for him, and he pulled the stretchy pants down to her ankles and then completely off, taking her panties with them. The blood rushed away from his brain.

  Her legs gleamed. He ran his hands up her muscular calves and to her round thighs, and then shifted both of them. He placed one of her feet on the seat and the other on the floorboard and crouched between them on the seat.

  Samson reversed his decision to get a new car. He needed his SUV for situations like this. This electric car was not built luxuriously enough for such shenanigans.

  Not that he was going to let some tight quarters get in the way of Heaven. He kissed his way up her thighs to the spot between. He wanted to bury his face between her legs but he controlled his greed.

  The car was dim, the only light a distant fluorescent bulb in the parking garage, but it cast an oddly romantic glow over her body. She was all these perfect shades of brown here, her black hair trimmed. He used two fingers to open her up and studied the pink revealed. He hadn’t gotten to thoroughly indulge his senses when they’d been together the last time. He probably wouldn’t get to tonight. He didn’t want to fuck her here, in such cramped quarters.

  Next time. There has to be a next time.

  Basically the exact words he’d thought to himself the first time he’d gone down on her That Night. He rubbed his cheek on her soft inner thigh. This passion and excitement was raw and uncomplicated and utterly untouched by all the other stuff that clouded their relationship. It was like they were new to each other.

  “I should tell you, I don’t usually come from oral sex,” she said, and her matter-of-fact words jerked him out of his contemplation of her pretty pussy.

  He rubbed two fingers up and down her sex. Her flesh glistened. “You came for me plenty the night we were together.”

  “Not while you were . . .” Was her face red? Was Ms. World Weary blushing? “I didn’t come while you were going down on me.”

  He thought back to that night, the X-rated memories making him harder. That was true. He’d either been fucking her or playing her with his fingers. “You liked it, though?” His mouth was watering, but he’d go no further if she didn’t want him to.

  “I loved it. I just can’t come easily from it, and most men don’t want to stay down there forever.”

  The stab of jealousy that ran through him was annoying, so he ignored it. “I’m not most men,” he murmured and licked her swollen clit.

  He used his hands to grip her legs and settled in to feast, taking more space for his head and shoulders when she arched. She was silent, but he could tell by the way her thighs trembled and the way she gripped his hair that she enjoyed it.

  Samson had no idea how much time had passed, but when he heard her moans, he opened his eyes and left her for a breath of air. Her skin was flushed, turning her face and neck a dark burgundy rose. The lines on her forehead were deep. “You need to come,” he said, his breath coming as fast as hers. He scraped his chin over her clit, delighting in how she jumped.

  “I told you, I can’t . . .”

  He pressed two fingers deep inside her. He chuckled at the noise she made, though his erection made humor almost impossible. “That Night, you made that noise when I slid inside you. Does this fill you up like my cock did?”

  “I think you’re a little bigger,” she purred.

  He swallowed, the ego stroke going right to his dick. He pressed a third finger inside her and she gasped, her legs widening. “Perfect.”

  He thrust inside her, using his thumb to stimulate her clit. “You can’t come from my tongue, I get that.
But you came just fine when I fucked you with my fingers, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t respond, so he stopped, lowered his head, and sucked her clit. She cried out.

  He came back up. “Didn’t you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Yeah.” His hungry gaze locked on his fingers moving in and out of her body, the sounds of sex filling the car. How would he let her go? Like, ever, but especially tonight?

  Rhi tensed and he followed the cues of her body, not letting up until she came with a shudder and a sigh, her fingers relaxing over his arm.

  Though his body was clamoring at him, he rested his head against her thigh, exhilarated accomplishment making him smug and happy.

  He petted her calf. “Rhi,” he murmured and gave her clit a gentle kiss. “Rhiannon.”

  A new tension invaded her limbs. He could feel the instant she transformed from postcoital lethargic to anxious. She sat straight up. “Rhi?” he repeated. “You okay?”

  Her hair had escaped its ponytail. She nodded so hard the curls vibrated. “Yes. I—I have to go.” She grabbed her leggings and pulled them on.

  “Go?” He frowned. She didn’t sound okay. She sounded freaked out. “Did I do—”

  “You didn’t do anything.” She lifted her hips and pulled the pants on over her hips, tugging her shirt and sweatshirt down over the waistband. Then she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down to cover her hands. “You were great. Thanks for, um, everything. I’ll— I’ll see you.”

  She clambered out of the back seat, and he followed, blinking at the harsh glare of the parking garage, no longer diffused through the windows. He straightened and touched her arm. “Rhiannon.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Her snap was loud and stern. She opened the driver’s-side door with jerky motions.

  “I won’t.” He kept his tone as gentle and nonthreatening as he could make it. “Rhi. I’m sorry.”

  Her shoulders froze, her face in profile. Her words spilled from her lips too fast, like something was forcing them out involuntarily. “My ex was the last person to call me Rhiannon in bed. Things didn’t end well. Guys I hook up with, they use Claire, if they call me anything at all. I didn’t know how much I’d hate it, but I can’t handle you calling me my full name. Especially when we’re intimate.”

  His first instinct was to find this mystery ex-boyfriend and punch him in the face, but that wasn’t helpful right now. He raked his hand through his hair. “I’ll call you whatever you want, even if that’s Claire or some other name you haven’t told me yet. Say no more. I didn’t know it was such a big deal, but I hear you. I’ll be more careful.” He dared to rest his hand on her back. Her muscles slowly unclenched.

  She faced him, and he was floored at the sheen of tears in her eyes. Rhi put a lot of stock in appearing tough and strong. She was probably kicking herself for even having this outburst. She wouldn’t like him seeing her cry.

  He pulled her in for a tight hug so she could have the illusion of privacy. She rested her face against his shoulder and breathed deeply while he rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. This was an overreaction.”

  “No. If it’s important to you, it’s not an overreaction. It’s okay, Rhi.”

  At the repetition of her nickname, she relaxed. She pulled away and he gently freed a curl from where it was stuck to her damp lips. He squeezed her shoulders. “Why don’t you go on home. Get some rest?”

  Her smile was wobbly, but there. “I will. Thanks for, um. Everything.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her tone went businesslike and brisk. “I’ll call you about our next meeting.”

  He matched her tone with a faint sense of amusement, given where his lips had been a few minutes ago. “Sounds good.” He waved and waited until she’d reversed out of the spot and drove down the ramp before he walked away.

  His body was still clamoring for more, but he also felt an odd sense of peace that not even the memory of that drunk calling him a Curse could shake.

  This was the best business decision he’d ever made. What an interesting, demanding, adorable puzzle of a woman.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’M SO glad you’re here this weekend. Feels like it’s been forever since we’ve gotten to catch up.”

  Rhiannon smiled at Katrina, who was sprawled next to her in a lounge chair on the Santa Barbara mansion’s porch. It wasn’t that hot out, but Katrina wore the skimpiest of white sundresses and looked like a voluptuous goddess, her golden flesh spilling out and over the fabric.

  “I’m glad I came up for the weekend too.” It was only Thursday, but she could work remotely tomorrow. She’d been feeling guilty over how little she’d seen of Katrina over the past couple of weeks.

  She’d been busy, not only with the business, but with Samson as well. They’d shot four of their five videos so far.

  Samson’s initial terrible first date with Rachel had gone about midlevel viral, like Rhiannon had thought it would, but in the best possible way. People who had no idea who he was were invested in the bumbling hot former pro athlete, and people who knew of him were awash in nostalgia. As for Rachel, she was doing fine. Samson had mentioned to Rhiannon that the aspiring actress was delighted with the free publicity.

  They’d already released two of their videos and they’d had good metrics on their social media and a bump in app downloads. As Samson had predicted, they’d both played well to their respective customer bases: a dating ingenue taken under the wing of a cynical romance expert. In fact, the internet was responding so well to Rhiannon’s brand of snark, she’d felt free to get a little spicier on camera. Suzie and marketing had been surprisingly chill.

  Except for when she’d said she’d rather gouge her eyes out than be in a relationship with someone. Suzie had edited that part out of the second video and glared at her while she told her to, of course, cool it.

  “Have you heard from Annabelle yet?”

  “Samson’s been in contact, but she doesn’t want to talk business until she’s stateside, which should be any day now.” Rhiannon had eyed him suspiciously when he’d told her that, because it sounded like a delaying tactic, but he’d thrown up his hands, pulled out his phone, and played a voice mail from Annabelle that was, almost verbatim, what he’d said.

  She’d apologized, but oddly enough, he hadn’t seemed terribly put out by her general distrust. It was kind of nice, not to have to explain herself constantly.

  “How was the beach yesterday?” Katrina asked.

  Rhiannon adjusted her laptop screen. This was another reason she’d been staying in her L.A. apartment lately. Katrina saw too much. “Great. Samson is a natural in front of the camera.”

  “He sure is. So are you. You have good chemistry.”

  The words were delivered without inflection, but Rhiannon could hear the question in them. She kept her gaze glued to her computer.

  What could she say? That after every filming, they sat around and talked about the most mundane stuff on the face of the planet? That she was learning more about him than she had any man in recent history? That “walk me to my car” had become a code for heading to whatever remote spot she’d parked her car and fooling around? “We haven’t had sex yet.”

  “I didn’t ask if you had.” Katrina paused. “Oral sex is sex, FYI.” When Rhiannon cast her a startled glance, Katrina laughed. “Well, that tells me everything I need to know. Be—”

  “Be careful. I know. I am.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Rhiannon sighed. “He’s a good guy. And I never thought I’d say that about someone who ghosted me.”

  “You know, in certain special cases, it’s okay to give someone the benefit of the doubt.” Katrina tapped her finger on her chin. “Someone wise in this house advised exactly that, no?”

  The benefit of the doubt? More like a recipe for being let down. Or at least, that was what she’d always assumed.

  Still assumed, that is. “Spoken like a romantic.”

/>   Katrina snorted. “Hardly. Romance hasn’t come knocking on my door lately.” A meow came from the concrete. Katrina leaned over the side of the chair and picked up the kitten she’d adopted about three minutes after Rhiannon had given her that panicked go-ahead.

  Rhiannon and the kitten eyed each other in respectful tolerance. She was glad she had agreed to this new roommate. Katrina needed more companionship.

  “I went to that pho place yesterday.”

  Rhiannon stopped pretending to work. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  Katrina rubbed her face on Zeus’s head and smiled. It was a small, secret, vulnerable smile. “I couldn’t believe it.”

  Rhiannon whooped and placed her laptop on the table, curling up to look at Katrina more head-on. “What are we up to now? Seven?”

  “Yes.” Katarina’s chest rose and fell and she looked off into the distance. Her round, makeup-less face was soft and sweet. Back in the day, when she’d spent lots of time outdoors and at beaches and concerts, her skin had been burnished a golden tan at all times, but now her coloring was dependent on the time of year and whether she felt like sitting in the sun. “Seven establishments I’ve managed to comfortably patronize.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day when I would celebrate being able to walk into a handful of places that aren’t my own home.”

  Rhiannon didn’t care for the hint of disgust in her friend’s tone. “Hey, don’t think about what you may have done in the past. Think about how hard you worked to get here.”

  Katrina gazed at the sprawling view laid out before them, the city of Santa Barbara spread like a necklace, the view of the Pacific obscured by fog. Other mansions dotted the hill, but this one was especially secluded, the backyard lush with greenery and flowers. When Katrina wasn’t creating high-end wearable art, she was gardening. “I am pretty happy with myself.”